Sundance Stompede Halloween

The Sundance Stompede is almost a month later than usual this year, and started with Sundance Saloon's Thursday night kick-off dance landing on Halloween.  Great fun and a start to the weekend.  Welcome back all my wonderful dancing friends!






























Full set on Flickr.

okaley dokaley!

I didn't snap photos of costumes this year, but walking past the Carl & Cole stop I couldn't resist:


Ned Flanders.

Aussie Andrew

Another warm and bright visit from my favorite Australian Andrew. Too bad this trip was so short! Despite the complete haunted house fail, we had a good SF night between Union Square and Martuni's.


I love my Facebook/Foursquare stalker friends. "You're at Martuni's? Would you check if Wil's hat is in the lost and found?"




And duly returned with a last stop at Blackbird.


Fun times. Big hugs. Safe travels.

Spell Block Tango

Love this. Toderick Hall produced the "Cell Block Tango" from the show Chicago featuring Disney's villains in the "Spell Block Tango." And my word those playing cards from the Queen of Hearts. So hot they're criminal too.



So well done.


For reference, see also the original:

beauty is skin deep

So protect it. Nethea Rhinehardt has developed amazing new hand and feet creams that actually work. It's a great story, and great products. Shop online here, and read about in the the Blushing Beauty Blog: ReallyWorks Beauty: REHAB for Hands and Feet Review

Excerpt:

I received the REHAB for Hands and REHAB for Feet and I must say it REALLY WORKS! (I had to do it!) I have been trying it for about 2 weeks now and my feet and hands are a lot softer than they used to be. I can't even remember the last time my feet were this soft!

A Little About The Company:

Nethea (the creator of ReallyWorks) had struggled with "man hands" and extremely dry feet. She had tried everything on the market, including geriatric products from Europe and Canada, and nothing worked for her. She decided to try to create the perfect product herself. What I think is so neat is that she has a college background in biology and chemistry so she was able to develop these products (with the help of chemists) that were actually effective and using natural ingredients. One thing that was very important to her was to make sure that this product would prevent people from having to "file" their skin down like they do while your getting a pedicure.

treat or treat

If I eat Halloween candy with both hands does that make me ambidextrose?

oooh. that sounds scary.

Movies use nonlinear sounds and sound effects to evoke our primal survival fear.



Or as Joe Hanson (It's Okay to be Smart) puts it, movies use sounds to scare us to death, as our brains use these sounds to scare us to life.

happy say

This has done wonders for my sad moodiness today. Sesame Street has won Vine.


"Yeah... I don't really say that."

Genius.

And more genius:





For reference:

I dream in documentary

Some nights I have vivid, detailed, fully-formed dreams. Fully-formed in the sense that I imagine a movie for myself with a storyline plot development, beginning, middle and end. Or at least middle and end. I tend to only manage to retain the memory of the ending beyond the place between asleep and awake.

I had a slightly disturbing dream last night that played as a documentary in my head. Not disturbing I should say as just slightly sad and slightly tragic. I think two things in the periphery of my daily life imprinted themselves in my mind to form the basis of the story. My dream was a documentary of a significant figure in the history of San Francisco, a gay-rights pioneer by his/her virtue of being a legend in the drag community. Although I did not know about her until her death, the subject of the documentary was a character similar to Jose Julio Sarria, Empress Jose the First. The Empresses died in September and there was a memorial shrine in the Castro and a funeral event at Grace Cathedral to rival any other head of state. The subject of my dream documentary was just such a figure, but named Unique, a name my mind also took from a passing notice of a show at the Castro theater, or a half-remembered poster of a local drag show.

My dream was detailed with interviews and graphics, enough that I was impressed with the art direction not really understanding that this was coming from my own mind. I don't think I could have ever designed such images on purpose, but the video graphics and iconography were imagined by my subconsciousness were really well produced. Does it count as design, as writing, if it comes unconsciously?

I feel the need to blog this as the story and some of the images have stuck with me all day. And the reel seemed to end just as I was waking up: either the show was over and it was time for my lights to come up, or I was ready to wake and my mind wrote an ending to the film.

The closing scene included an interview with the man producing the tribute show for the recently deceased Unique, and during his piece the camera cut away to the marquee behind him listing the names of the drag luminaries scheduled to perform. There was a black line with name under it prominently featured in the palace script of the other performers, with a thin-lined X crossed through it and a bracket under it reading [Unavailable]. The performer was included in honorarium, in that he should be there, but couldn't, and the event honored him too by inclusion in the program fully knowing he wouldn't perform.

The performer who couldn't make it was Unique's husband. His widower. And as the producer described the circumstances in a voice over, the image shifted to that of dark red rotary telephone on a white field, slowly panning back to an array of many smaller phones, and panning back so that these phones became the pixels of one larger dark red antique rotary phone, which then slowly melted away as if seen through tears on a window pane.

I woke when the narrative had finished, and the sentence has stayed in my mind all day, at when I took the time to feel the thought closely I fell myself into tears.

The Story of Unique ended with this:

After Arthur died, his husband became a recluse. No one knew that he spent every day sitting alone in his parlor, most days only in the dimness of the window shades, compulsively trying to call his departed lover on the phone. He dialed the phone number over and over. And over. Dialing the numbers backward so that he might connect to the past, or pierce the veil, and hear the voice of his heart just one more time.

I know where love lives.

Twenty years of husbandry and still newlyweds.


Love you guys.

when cool people procreate

Yesterday was the non-traditional, just-a-celebration baby shower for The Jamez and Special K. They are, individually, ridiculously awesome people. Together: magic. Their progeny is expected within the next three-to-four weeks. Plus shipping and handling.




This is going to be fun.

the Doctor is out.

The Hitchcock Hallway

My workplace has an events staff that arranges all sorts of so fun things throughout the year to engage the different populations and units together into a larger community. Each year, they sponsor Halloween parties at each campus with a costume contest and department door decorating contest. You may see where I am going with this. I love Halloween and design and can tend to get a little competitive. I still think we were robbed last year as the judges were swept up in World Series fever and gave prizes to the Giants doors.

At the end of last year we said that this year we would turn the hallway into a diorama of Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves. When we brought it up at a staff meeting in September, the idea was nixed as the term "gypsy" is now considered pejorative. Which I do recognize as true, but so also are "tramp" and "thief." But I take the point and I wasn't all that keen on the idea anyway. Especially after the office decided I should dress up as Cher. And once I got the Turn Back Time video stuck in my head, I was on "No."

After a nice internal stream of consciousness brainstorming walk around the building, I came up with this: The Hitchcock Hallway, representing a dozen iconic images or references to the most popular films from the Master of Suspense. This is what I sketched out:


My co-conspirator did some excellent sourcing of off materials such as wall banners, and I found some black bird wall decals and fake feathered birds. Once presented at the department meeting, everyone was enthusiastic and we were able to build on the ideas and make construction a team effort. This is, after all, about team building, right? (No, it is about winning. And being awesome. And well yes of course some team building. But mostly about making something really cool happen. And maybe a little winning.) And my boss is so totally awesome that she supports these things whole-heartedly and gets enthusiastic too.

From sketch to reality, it really came together quite well:




And in detail we have:

Rear Window

Psycho

North by Northwest



Rope


The Birds



Vertigo

The falling man is actually mounted about two inches in front of the poster so there is some parallax as you move your head, and the poster itself and the black backing are both off kilter just enough that your brain tries to correct them visually and it actually makes you dizzy when you look at it. I love this.

Dial "M" for Murder (My favorite.)


(My Co-worker) Rebecca




Ken Jennings as The Man Who Knew Too Much



Portrait entitled "The Day We First Met," when we were Strangers on a Train


The 39 Steps


And finally, Lifeboat


I also learned that Alfred Hitchcock's first movie as a director was a 1927 silent film, The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog, which was a sort of Jack-the-Ripper tale. This film is in the public domain now and available from The Internet Archive. We're projecting it through one of the entry windows onto the opposite wall with film facts and synopsis. I don't have the accompaniment, but we are playing the score from Vertigo at the other doorway.


This has been a frightful amount of fun, and I'm so happy that so many people are enjoying it, and taking the time follow the clue the clues. Happy Hitchcock Halloween!

Off the Grid: Evening Picnic in the Presidio

PeeDee came across this post about the evening picnics sponsored by the Presidio and Off the Grid running Wednesdays through October, and we were able to make it out there tonight. While I wish the warm weather and clear skies of the last week could have held on a little longer, it was wonderful San Franciscan adventure on the park lawn. And oh-dear-God-in-Heaven cold!

Off the Grid and Park Services set out cabanas against the wind, provided plenty of blankets, and the fire marshall came by and lit the gas-fired, smokeless fire pits in the center of Adirondack chair circles. There was beer and wine for sale, or you could BYOwn as we did, and the gourmet food trucks offered an array of warm and tasty treats.


It was 45° out there on the parade grounds, and the wind sliced though us. But the fire and friendship kept us warm.


And more layers than a croissant and hats with flaps.


Nothing keeps you warm like a chicken on your head I always say.

It's spontaneous-ish nights like these that remind me how much I love San Francisco, and living here is like living in a Big City of a small-town carved from magic.

the gay blades

"When I was in my 20s I didn't have the nerve to tell my parents explicitly I was gay so I just bought roller blades."

fall(en) soufflés and pumpkin cake

I was responsible for birthday treats at the staff meeting this month. I've been known for my mamma's pumpkin bread since the fifth grade, but this year I tried a pumpkin cake. It was a pretty good recipe- moist and light, but I did and do recommend adding a teaspoon of nutmeg. Cream-cheese frosting is perfect for this, but I suck at making that so I used storebought and it didn't seem to show in the tasting.

I love this time of year though with clever spooky bots and all thinks pumpkin and spiced. The dry chilly weather has helped me get in the mood and enabled me to let go of our late Indian summer.

Tasty.


And with a "haunted tree" and fallen autumn leaves...


Mmmmmm...pumpkin cake....

great gums of fire

Just a quick post to shout out to the wonderful Michael Smith, friend and photog extraordinaire I spend far too little time with. We managed to catch up last Thursday at a private party at the Lookout to celebrate the birthdays of Wil-with-one-L and Georg-with-one-E. Then, a faction of us decided the Monster Show could be a great idea, and we somehow managed to close the Thursday night at the Edge down with Cookie Dough's "Katy Perry versus Cyndi Lauper" night.


So shouts to Michael. That man can make even gum grafts seem like a party.

bad things make good stories

I had a date last week. It was a first date, but sort of not. A 1.5st date. I asked him. And I had been a little giddy about it, then a little dashed, then cautiously optimistic. He's down in Mountain View, and as the gentleman caller I offered to drive down rather than ask that he drive up. He was in the mood for Italian, and suggested a place near where he is house-sitting. A local chain of some regional renown: Frankie, Johnnie & Luigi Too!

The restaurant was just awful. The service was friendly enough but the execution was so far beyond terrible that it made for a terrific date. There comes a point where one has to celebrate a fiasco. And if you are with the right person, and in the right frame of mind, you can have a good time anywhere. Even the band played as the Titanic sank.

Not only did I have a wonderful time for the charming company, but I got a good solid ten minutes of stand-up out of this. For this post, I am going to set aside the odd, tandem waitering of the tall lactose-intolerant skeleton and his diminutive mute shadow ("How do you know he was lactose intolerant?" you ask. Precisely. Why should I know this?), the 70s cliché iceberg salad, and the barely warm, flavorless calzone, and just talk about the cocktail experience (which after the following still took two more attempts to reach "acceptable.").

There was a menu of "specialty martinis" with no regard as to if the drinks there listed were actually martinis, and regardless all were given a -tini suffix. Just a note: a cosmopolitan may be considered by some to be a form of martini, but even then it is not called a "cosmopolitini."

Unable to bear the syrup and dessert concoctions which comprised the specialty menu (how many drinks can one make with chocolate liqueur?), I thought I would try one of their three specific house specials (also promoted as always happy-hour priced!), and while I knew it was a gamble at best I ordered the Manhattan and asked for it in a lowball on the rocks.

When it finally arrived, it was straight up in a martini glass, and it didn't have just one, but TWO BUGS in it. Seriously. To mix a bug in a drink is one thing; to not notice two bugs in such a small glass, with a nearly clear liquid and no ice is another. And the fact that there was more than one fly in the cocktail is just gross. In my head I could hear my mother adding jokes such as "Don't say anything or everyone will want one." or "Well, he won't drink much." Which is all fine and dandy for my mother, but when the sidekick waiter returned with a glass of ice for my cocktail (realizing their mistake) and I told him quite calmly and pleasantly (I am still on my best behavior on this first-point-five date here) that there were bugs in the drink, he actually said "Good thing they don't drink much." And that was it. No apology. No shame. No mea culpas.  No comps. No recognition of the issue that they just served me a glass of bugs as if their error was that I ordered them on the side.

I tried again.

When Icabod returned I asked if they had any orange vodkas (Clementine, Mandarin, L'Orange?).  "Yes," he said, "We have Citron."

Now I have always said that the first rule cocktails is that a lemon is not a lime, but I left that thought unvoiced and asked, "Do you have Mandarin?"
"Yes we do."
"Then I'll have a Mandarin and soda, no fruit. Please.  Thank you."

He returned again some time later to inform me that they had no Mandarin.
"But you have Citron? ...That will do."
"No. Actually, we only have one flavored vodka: PB&J"

Peanut Butter and Jelly flavored vodka. I'm going to let that one sink in a minute. Seriously. A full bar and bar room in the front of the restaurant, and the only infused vodka they have is flavored with peanut butter and jelly.

I was dumbstruck (rare for me I know). So many thoughts ran through my head: "PB&J? Is there a kid's drink menu? That can't be an 'infused vodka'—what would they 'infuse' it with? Is there a distillery somewhere with vats and vats of alcohol steeping with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Is the vodka murky? Do they put in white bread too? Are the crusts cut off? What do they garnish it with? Is there a jelly rim? Is there going to be a wedge of a PB&J sandwich perched on the rim of the glass? Maybe a toast point.  Maybe there will be a peanut butter ball with a plastic sword speared through it. Should I expect a sandwich-based drink to have fewer bugs in it?..."

I looked at the waiter in stunned silence, then nonplussed across the table to my date. Our eyes met and GJ turned to look up at the waiter and asked, "What flavor is the jam?"

Best date ever.

She's got no ticket to ride.

The upside of the BART strike? A full weekend of nightlife with no B & T.

I've created a monster!

I am the Cool Gay Uncle that sends random toys and gifts to the nieces and nephews, even though they range in age from six to 20. Among the items for the L, a Halloween card which is also a foam, furry Frankenstein's Monster mask. I love the idea that I can drop an envelope in a little blue box, and make a brighter day two thousand miles away.  Small stones, big ripples.

Rawr!

film as a narrative art

Some of my favorite classes in college were the Film as a Narrative Art studies, wherein we studied novels and the films which they inspired. It is a bit as in Art History, where you learn to appreciate that while the story may be the same, its depiction in painting and in sculpture are may be very different, and must be appreciated distinctly as they are different media by which to communicate to the viewer. In the same fashion, while I may enjoy a film version of a story more-so than a book version or vice-versa, there should be no snap judgement that "the book is better than the movie" as they are different media to present to subject to the viewer, and must be critiqued within the framework of their medium.

That being said, I found this particular short analysis of the classic Double Indemnity fascinating, wherein the Glenn Kenny notes Barbra Stanwyck's anklet as device absolutely essential to the narrative and character development within the film, while it is a detail completely absent from the novel.

That, and the introduction of the femme fatale, and the pivot on the anklet, is my favorite scene in the movie.

If you have a moment, click over to Balder & Dash at Roger Ebert.com and read Mr. Kenny's article "A Woman's Equipment: Barbara Stanwyck's Anklet in 'Double Indemnity,'"

Excerpt:

Because relative to the film's momentum, the person most affected by the anklet is Neff. It's brought up four times within seven minutes. Observing it, Neff says, "That's a honey of an anklet you're wearing Mrs. Dietrichson. As I was saying, I'd hate to see the policies lapse." And after a bit more innocuous chit-chat, Neff's eye goes for the glint once more: "Wish you'd tell me what's engraved on that anklet."
"Just my name," the woman up until now only known as Mrs. Dietrichson replies.

"As, for instance?"

And Mrs. Dietrichson tells Neff it's Phyllis. There follows the justly-famous speed limit banter, and Phyllis' entirely insincere admonishment, and some backtracking wherein Neff tries to set a time when he can come back and speak to the man of the house about the insurance matter. Perhaps Mrs. Dietrichson will be there for the chat as well.

"Same chair, same perfume, same anklet?" Neff asks.

"I wonder if I know what you mean," says Phyllis, in a cold teasing tone that will be subject to more sinister variations as the movie continues.

"I wonder if you wonder," says Neff, with a smirk that the viewer already knows has been wiped off of his face for good.

The dialog breaks the speed limit in this scene as much as Mr. Neff's advances. Such a great roll.

Hell No

Awesome trailer for a fake movie: A horror story where the characters use critical thinking and make good decisions.

Hell No: The Sensible Horror Movie

problem solving

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

This is so my life. And I am, of course, Dewey in this scenario.

Help me help you.

And if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the precipitate.